Brother Dao Took the Entertainment Industry by Storm, Fans Beg Me Not to Kill Anymore

That evening, Xiao He opened his phone and saw his name once again sitting high on the Hot Search list. He couldn’t help but find it amusing.

He’d told Sister Liu just earlier that he wanted to lay low for a while, but who would’ve thought the trending searches would just refuse to let him go?

Even without any explicit marketing push, his magic reveal videos were spreading like wildfire. Netizens munching on melon seeds had organically boosted them to the top of the charts—the only entry on that entire Hot Search list that had risen purely through natural traffic.

Well, well. Even Central TV’s programs didn’t get treatment like that!

From a marketing standpoint, he’d hit the jackpot.

Xiao He shook his head with a wry smile, continued scrolling through his phone, then remembered that *The Phantom Thief Alliance 2* was officially releasing tomorrow.

That also meant he’d have a massive wave of heat and buzz coming his way, and barring any surprises, he’d probably stay glued to the trending searches.

He looked over some of the related promotional videos, eventually logged back into his account, and did a repost to help promote *The Phantom Thief Alliance 2*.

The very next moment, a fresh trending topic about Xiao He charged straight onto the Hot Search list again.

Xiao He: ...I never thought climbing the entertainment charts would be this effortless....

Meanwhile, over in Beijing.

Director Qiu Zhenlong listlessly turned off the TV and decided to work overtime in his study.

He sat down at his desk, slowly put on his reading glasses, and opened the final audition list that lay on the table.

Most of the names on the list had come through recommendation slots—spots that Qiu Zhenlong had intentionally released.

He’d been away from the domestic entertainment industry for far too long. Most of his connections had already retired from the market. But since the most crucial role of Emperor Chen required an outstanding young actor this time around, he decided to release a few slots to draw in fresh young talent and new networks into his field of vision. At the same time, it was a way to revive his old contacts and rebuild relationships through those recommendation channels.

But the quality of actors coming through these recommendation slots was wildly inconsistent.

The list in front of Director Chou covered most of the young actors with name recognition and backing in the current market. Some had excellent acting skills, while others had mediocre talent but great marketing chops. Their one commonality? Director Chou didn’t recognize a single one of them.

He pushed his reading glasses up on his nose, feeling like his eyes were already going blurry, and furrowed his brows.

”Why are female applicants’ resumes getting sent over? How did the assistants organize this data...”

He grumbled under his breath, then squinted hard at the gender column. Only then did he realize that this young person, who looked as delicate and beautiful as a Barbie doll, was male.

Qiu Zhenlong: ...

First day back, and he was thoroughly stunned by today’s youth—almost as much as by the TV program he’d just watched.

He stared at the young man’s resume for a long time, even specifically flipping to the attached historical costume audition photos, trying to judge the guy’s true nature with his ”old-timer” eyes. Finally, he confirmed that this pretty boy absolutely did not meet his casting standards and, out of patience, tossed the resume onto his right-hand side.

Then he continued down the list and picked up another person’s resume.

”Shu Han... Hmm, that name sounds familiar.”

Qiu Zhenlong glanced at Shu Han’s photo and nodded with slight satisfaction.

This young man had a handsome face, excellent bone structure, and looked pretty good overall. Putting him in ancient imperial robes to play an emperor wouldn’t be a problem.

But his eyes continued downward, finally stopping at a certain point.

”Went abroad to develop, huh... Hmm hmm hmm.”

Qiu Zhenlong snorted lightly, made no comment, and silently lowered his impression score. Still, he took another look at Shu Han’s other experiences and achievements. He had to admit the guy currently fit his standards fairly well.

So Qiu Zhenlong thought it over and placed this resume in the middle pile.

He kept flipping and another person appeared before him.

”Yun Ziqi...”

Qiu Zhenlong narrowed his eyes, staring at that name for a long moment. In the end, he said nothing, simply raising his hand and placing this resume on his left-hand side.

For this round of recommended candidates, Qiu Zhenlong had divided the auditioning actors into three piles in advance.

The actors on the left side were key targets worth focusing on. During the actual auditions, Qiu Zhenlong would pay close attention to them.

The actors in the middle were secondary considerations. While the overall quality of these actors wasn’t bad, they came with many potential pitfalls and issues that required careful, deliberate judgment. Their priority was lower than the key targets.

As for the actors on the right side—well, that was obvious. They were just filler. Basically not worth attention, just there to go through the motions when the time came. This way, the recommenders wouldn’t lose face, and he could gracefully turn down these obvious no-hopers.

Qiu Zhenlong had gotten quite adept at this method.

But he also had to admit, it was really hard to tell these young people apart these days. A lot of them had no distinguishing features.

How should he put it? At first glance, they looked decent enough. But after looking a bit longer, then glancing at someone else, he’d realize these guys all seemed to have the same face.

Qiu Zhenlong carefully (and casually) picked out a set of ”triplet brothers,” studied them quietly for a moment, and before he could even tell who was who, he noticed that the young assistant had marked one of the resumes.

”Oh, a popular artist... and not low on name recognition either... So why is this low-budget version more famous?”

Even though Qiu Zhenlong still couldn’t match the ”three brothers’” faces to their names, at first glance, he felt that the ugliest of the three was actually the most famous one.

Qiu Zhenlong: ...Tsk.

He felt like his entire career was facing a massive challenge.

Could he really preserve his reputation in his twilight years?

With a heavy heart, Qiu Zhenlong tossed the three brothers into the right-hand pile—uh, the ”trash bin” side—and braced himself to keep digging for ”treasure.”

Soon enough, Qiu Zhenlong let out another soft hiss.

The resume in front of him had also been prominently marked by the assistant, indicating this person was the top star of some company, a well-known actor with high name recognition, plenty of buzz, massive traffic, and deep connections.

But those things didn’t immediately catch Qiu Zhenlong’s attention.

Because he was first drawn in by the guy’s ID photo.

—Hmm, very unique.

The person in the photo wore a simple white shirt, with cold, hard features. His eyes were indifferent, tinged with a hint of malice, and his straight nose bridge came off as sharp and aggressive. His thin lips were pressed tight, utterly devoid of a smile, and the way his gaze landed on the camera carried a heavy sense of oppression. All of it gave his aura an increasingly dark and vicious edge. It felt less like an ID photo and more like a mugshot for a criminal case, radiating a fierce ”stay away” vibe.

Qiu Zhenlong had never seen an artist with such ”sharp edges” before.

That sharpness wasn’t about appearance—it was the keen, piercing quality revealed in the eyes and demeanor. It was filled with an alarming aggressiveness that made it unforgettable after just one look.

Honestly, Liu Rulan had been taking a bit of a gambler’s mentality when she submitted that photo.

But without a doubt, her gamble paid off.

Qiu Zhenlong was indeed captivated, staring at the photo for a long time without looking away.